I, the Match Girl
by RandomMumble
Summary: Just a slightly different version of Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Little Match Girl'. -Match girl's PoV-


**Title****: **_I, the Match Girl_

**Disclaimer****: **The little Match Girl is a Fairy Tale from the feather of Hans Christian Andersen. I'm just borrowing her and her tragic fate. No copyright infringements intended!

**Summary****: **Just a very slightly different version of 'The Little Match Girl'. Match girl's PoV

**Language****: **English

**Category:** FanFiction / Books / Fairy Tales

**Characters:** The little Match Girl

**Genre****: **Tragedy / Angst

**Rating****:** K+

**Words****:** 3.087

**A/N****: **When I was little I loved this Fairy Tale – my mother dreaded it. Today... nothing has changed... ;) I never thought the ending was sad, I actually think it's a happy ending to a sad story...

**A/N2:** This is no actual FanFiction, it's just my version of '_The little Match Girl_' – I hope you'll enjoy reading it.

* * *

It's so cold. I can barely feel my toes anymore, but I have no choice. I will stay out all night if necessary. Father won't let me in anyway if I can't bring enough money. So I'll have to sell all my lucifer matches. It's February and the snow falls heavily on my shoulders. I am clad in a thin cloak, an old shawl covers my head, but it's already soaked by now...

"Mister! A match, Mister?", I cry out when a Gentleman passes me by. Well, actually he's not quite a Gentleman for he simply pushes me out of his way and rushes on. A sorrowful sigh escapes my lips and I decide to walk a little bit to warm my freezing feet. I'm almost barefoot for all I wear on my feet is a pair of woollen socks and over them plastic bags I've found in a trash can to keep the wetness away. I've had shoes once, but a boy stole them from me to make fun of me some time ago. Now I feel the snow and ice cutting into the soles of my feet and it hurts so badly, but there's nothing I can do about it.

A dignified Lady walks not far from me and I call out as loud as my aching throat and fading voice would let me, "Ma'am, a match to warm your hands" She ignores me, pretends not to see me. I want to run to her, get her attention and her money, but she's faster than I am and her legs are so much longer. The cold creeps into my every bone and I fear, it will soon freeze my heart. I have to hurry.

My desperately searching eyes catch the frame of an aging man, who holds a pipe between his teeth and is clapping on his chest and waist. He needs fire, I think happily and as fast as my meagre legs would carry me I rush to him and hold out a match. But before a word comes from my bluish lips he pulls something from his pocket. It's a lighter and discouraged I watch the tobacco in his pipe blaze. If I had any tears left I would be crying now.

The sky above me is not only dark but pitch-black and it's been like that for what feels like an eternity. The people around me become fewer and fewer. As I pass by a toy store I hear the clicking noise of their open/closed-sign being turned, followed by the similar noise of the door getting locked. I walk on and try not to pay attention – it's not hard though, I barely notice my surroundings anymore. And I don't see the carriage approaching me... I hear hoofs clacking on the cobblestones behind me and when I turn around I face a black horse. Startled I jump back as fast as possible before the horses can knock me down and they miss me only by a palm. The coachman doesn't even bothers to scold me... When I went out with my full box of matches it was still bright day. Father has given me a rather big slice of dark bread for breakfast and one for the rest of the day, both had been gone all too soon.

"Matches, lucifer matches; to ignite your cigarettes, cigars and pipes; matches to emblaze your fireplace; warm your hands; Matches, lucifer matches", I all but mumble, the words painfully slowly dripping from my mouth. I can feel the moister of my breath turning into ice in the tiny wrinkles of my trembling lips. It's highly doubtful that the people hurrying past me are even able to hear my murmurs, but I keep on trying, for no apparent reason. I could be scared of not selling enough matches to be allowed at home, but that's not it. I just advertise my goods because my mind is too tired and too cold to come up with anything else and the constant speech distracts me, for I have to concentrate hard on repeating my words over and over again. Anything that keeps me from focusing on the cold and the hunger growing unbearable in my belly is a good idea.

"Matches, lucif-" Suddenly my straight stare catches an orange light. Out of the corners of my eyes I see a large, high window enlightened by candles. I can't resist, I have to step up to it. It's hard to open my fingers, they feel stiff and it hurts so much – I know it's because of the cold, but I don't feel it in my hands anymore, all I feel is sharp stinging. But somehow I manage to grab the sill and pull my little body up, enough to get a glimpse of what's behind the pane. I'm standing on tiptoe and I fear my toes would simply break apart, but they don't and even if they would, I wouldn't be able to leave my spying position. My breath comes intermittent, I can hear it and it sounds like a suffocating animal. In my side I feel a sting, but it's neither from the cold nor from hunger, it's because on the other side of the window I can see a small family neatly seated around a large table, decorated and engarlanded. There's a beautiful woman hugging a small boy tenderly to her chest and a man, I assume it's her husband bends over to them, kissing his wife on her frown. On the floor there is a large amount of toys, all shining new and painted in gay colours. As the boy breaks free from his mother's grip and runs towards the bunch of toys I recognize him. He is the boy who has stolen my shoes. I recall the picture of him turning to his friends and swaying my porous slippers before he threw them into a river. They laughed so hard at me when I tried to get my shoes back and nearly fell into the water. I started to cry and they laughed even louder. Now that I see him with his family gathered around the festively decorated table, prepared to celebrate and say goodbye to the old year I feel so jealous and sad at the same moment. I wish I was like him and I don't understand why he is _this_ and I am _that_... As a huge feast gets served by a young maid and an aging butler I reluctantly lower my gaze and loosen my grip on the sill, sliding down the brick wall. In no more than a split second I saw so much food, so much food I badly wanted. My mouth gets watery, which isn't all bad, because it's causing a slight warmth to built in my throat.

I don't want to see anybody now. I want to be in a warm place, like the boy's home I just saw and I want to be there all by myself... or with Nanna... but since all this is no option I prepare myself to stride through the grey streets and search for customers for another endless amount of time. There are so few people who are still outside and nobody wants my matches. I have still ten left and I fear I won't get rid of them.

Just as I want to head for the next big street I notice there is a narrow blind alley between the house of the boy and the next building. I could really use a break and the place looks windless to me – the snow is falling vertically which would be a nice diversion, I think. So I walk in there and place my box with the matches on the driest spot I can find. It is indeed windless and the still falling snowflakes don't actually bother me, they may be cold, but they're nothing compared to the cutting storm I've been through. Quite thankful I sit down next to my box. I know that my coat would be soaked in a few minutes, so I brush some of the white dots away before I slide down and relax.

It feels nice to sit here. My feet are grateful for the pause and I feel them tingle when I pull them nearer to my body. For a short while I stay like that, motionless, enjoying the peace and rest. But all too soon I recognize the cold creeping into my bones again, cooling my blood. I throw a hazy gaze at the box. There are still those ten matches left... It's so incredibly tempting as I imagine the soft warmth spreading from lighted wood. My hand starts to move on its own – and as I notice this I pull it back reluctantly, but sternly. "No", I whisper, I slur. No, I think, no, I can't do this. Father wants the money they're worth. He wouldn't allow me to come in when I haven't brought enough coins. I can't risk it... can I?

It is so cold, so unspeakably cold. My shoulders are shaking so badly it hurts in my upper arms. I can't think clearly anymore. All I'm able to notice is the cold, the ice dragging in my hair and how my nose feels like it wasn't mine at all, like it was somebody else's. I wonder if my lashes can freeze too...

I can't stand it anymore, I cannot resist... Wildly and apathetically I reach out for the box's content. I grab one of the matches and stare at it. I don't know what I'm thinking, or even feeling, I just stare at it as if it was about to tell me what to do next. Eventually I graze it across the brick wall and it begins to sparkle instantly. As the sparkles turn into an even flame I crowd my other hand around it and the heat hits my palm. How good that feels, how pleasing.

A weak smile forms on my cracked lips and my eyelids feel heavy. I stare into the flame and enjoy myself. Though I'm really tired I'm alright and I don't want to get up, even if I could walk home now I wouldn't.

Utterly unexpected the small flame morphs into something _else_ before my eyes. I watch the colours expanding and brightening. Then finally I recognize its new form, it's a large furnace with a messing two-wing door and in its opening there is a cheery fire burning. Excited I shift closer to the dancing flames and stretch out my legs, warming the tired soles of my feet. I bend a little forward to hold my hands closer to the heat too and for an odd second I wonder if the joyous fire can match the sparkle in my eyes.

All of a sudden the furnace vanishes and my outstretched hands hold only the burnt lucifer match. A slight wad of smoke steams from it and the smile fades from the corners of my mouth leaving nothing back but tired, hungry and freezing me.

I sigh, too fast the cold has me back and I try to warm myself by wrapping my scrawny arms around my chest, rubbing my skin through the rough fabric. Just one more, I think, encouraging myself to light another match – it doesn't take much, my fingers are fumbling in the box already and within a short moment I look into a flickering flame again.

And anew the fire surprises me with a magical sight. The brick wall behind it is starting to fade until it is entirely translucent. A soft, sorrowful yet pleased sigh escapes my throat when I see the home of the mean boy. The family is not in it, but the feast is still neatly arranged on the large table. There's plum pudding, various pasties, cream gateau, a glistening jar full of an obviously sticky, cherry pink liquid and so much more tempting food, but I don't actually see anything of the rest. My gaze gets caught by a huge, festive, glazed turkey surrounded by all the goodies in the middle of the table. That has to be the tastiest smell I've ever breathed in. As if answering my silent prayers the dish begins to rattle on its plate and eventually the turkey jumps up and shambles over to me. I can feel my mouth getting watery and I have to swallow, causing my stomach to grumble noisily. When the turkey hops into the hole in the brick wall I reach for its haunch – but my fingers just close tighter around the extinguishing match and with the light the wonderful, delicious meal absconds.

I hold onto the blackened match for another while, desperately hoping for the food to reappear, but it won't and it makes my guts turn over painfully.

I don't care any longer. Eagerly I emblaze a third match and hold it close to my face. Intensely staring into its wreathing flame I wait for another small miracle to happen.

"Oh", I smile as the sparkle multiplies into a good dozen, each new spot settling on a branch of a deep green Christmas tree. It's huge and beautifully decorated with ornaments and wrapped goodies in the fanciest colours. I hurry to stand before it, enchanted clapping my hands together. The smile on my face widens and now I'm flashing my most joyful grin. Under the tree I spot a big bunch of presents, all wrapped in glittering paper and decorated with keen bows. I don't know why, but I have to stand up on tiptoes. Never before have I witnessed such an alluring scene. I can't decide whether I want to pick sweets from the Christmas tree's branches or rush to its bole to tear the wrapping paper from the gifts. Irresolutely my gaze lingers a little bit longer on the bright candles.

Utterly unaware I watch the dancing flames wandering upwards until they settle in the skies above. The lights only stars now and the tree along with all the presents is gone. One of the stars which too had been a Christmas tree candle less than a second ago falls. I title my head and narrow my eyes a bit. "Somebody is dying...", I mumble for when my Nanna was still alive she used to tell me, when a star falls from the sky somewhere someone goes to heaven to be with God. Nanna, I muse full of sorrow, oh, how I miss you...

There are still seven matches left. Three are already gone. Father won't allow me to come in and if for some reason he allows me to come home he'll beat me at least. He'll do either of it anyway, hence I take a fourth match and ignite it without further hesitation.

I fix my eyes upon the flame and try to concentrate. I picture its heat spreading from the wood into my fingers, over my wrists, down my arms and from my shoulders flowing into every corner of my body until it would eventually reach my toes. Besides that I hope for another beautiful vision, one which would linger longer than a few seconds, one letting me actually enjoy what I witness...

I concentrate so hard on the fire, it splits in front of my stare and now there are two flames, but those two shift, they get rounder and darker. There's only a small sparkle left in them and suddenly I recognize they're eyes.

"_Nanna_?", I gasp afraid to have my hopes raised and nonetheless crushed in the end. But the figure in front of me just smiles at me and her nose wrinkles while she's doing so. I know this expression oh so well. I examine it each single night in my dreams... "_Nanna_", I pant again, this time completely convinced and I feel the corners of my own mouth shooting upwards. I'm in her arms so swiftly I can't remember ever being anywhere else but in this soothing embrace. My frown is resting against her shoulder and I feel so at ease, but then I remember where I actually am and the fear creeps into my heart. Reluctantly I pull away from Nanna and gaze into her loving eyes, mine giving off a severe look. "Nanna, I know, when the match has burnt down you will be gone, just like the oven, the feast and the Christmas tree... but, Nanna, I don't want you to be gone. Please, take me with you. Don't leave me alone", I beg her. She's just gazing back at me, her expression sorrowful.

Desperately I turn around and grab every remaining match from my box and graze them all over the brick wall. Immediately they lighten up and give me their brightest flame.

When my eyes come to rest on my Grandmother's again I can see a reassuring glance in them. Assuaged I sigh and burry my face in her apron. Kind hands come to my hair and frame my face. I feel a kiss being placed on the top of my head and then the small of my body lifts. I look up at Nanna and she smiles, wrinkling her nose.

Nanna takes my hand in hers and together we leave and as I slowly walk past my lifeless, little frame still crouching on the cold ground, getting more and more covered in snow I tightly hold onto my Grandmother's hand.

I feel loved.

Some hours later, when sun has risen a crowd gathers around my cold, stiff body in the streets. They see the burnt matches in front of me and a fancily dressed woman whispers, "Oh, how sad. She tried to warm herself – but froze to death however" They sigh and some whimper, the fancy woman even sheds a tear. But don't they see I'm softly smiling? ...

Don't feel sorry for me... I died tonight. I died alone in the middle of the coldest of nights, in empty streets, snow falling upon me and burying me partially. My very short life has been miserable and forsaken, a life I never asked for. And tonight I died. Together with my beloved Nanna I went to heaven, where there is no pain, no sorrow, no cold and no hunger. It is a place that is at ease and has me now.

Don't feel sorry for me, don't cry for me. I am at peace and I am with God now. Eventually I've come to a place where I'm loved...

_**Fin**_


End file.
